


Notebooks

by wolfy_writing



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:30:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfy_writing/pseuds/wolfy_writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four notebooks in the life of Steve Rodgers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Notebooks

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through The Winter Soldier

“Hey, what’s that?”  Bucky looked at the blank book.  
“Sketchbook,” Steve said.  “Mr. Morelli gave it to me.  He wants me to take it around and practice drawing what I see.”  
“Is it an extra credit project? Because if anyone needs extra credit in art, it’s me, not you.”  Bucky grabbed playfully for the book.  
Steve pulled it away.  “It’s not for class.  He just wants me to practice more.  He said he thinks I might be able to be a professional artist.”  
“Really?”  Bucky’s eyes lit up.  “That’s great!”  He gave Steve a playful shove.  “I hear artists get all of the girls.”  
Steve ducked his head.  “I think he was talking about illustrating advertisements and things like that.”  
“Come on, don’t you want to be the next Picasso?”  
Steve shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I mean Cubism is…interesting, but I like art that looks like what it’s supposed to be.”  
“Fine.  Then start that.  Be the next big thing.”  
“I’m not sure if I want to be an artist,” said Steve.  “I still want to be a soldier.  You know, like my father.”  
Steve bit his lip.  This was where Bucky would look serious, and say something about having realistic goals.  Everyone wanted to tell Steve what was realistic.  They all wanted to explain that he was small and skinny and had asthma, as if he didn’t know.   
“Who says you have to be one thing or the other?” Bucky asked.  “It’s not like you can fight all of the the time.  And it’d probably be useful to have a soldier who could draw.  You could draw…maps and enemy fortifications and things. This,” said Bucky, holding up a pencil, “could be America’s next secret weapon.”  
Steve laughed.  “Then I should probably take it before you end up breaking it.”  
Bucky grinned and handed Steve the pencil.

Steve ended up carrying that sketchbook around in the bottom of his book bag until it was full.  He didn’t know if he wanted to be an artist, but he did like drawing.   
Sometimes he’d go down to the harbor and practice drawing the ships, pretending he was a scout investigating new German weapons.  
He never told Bucky that part.

—

The notebook became more practical after he went to war.  Maps, just like Bucky said, Hydra weapons, and different unit insignias.  Peggy had helped him get a miniature camera about half the size of a Kodak Browie, but they didn’t always have the time, and the film was often too delicate to transport.  
He didn’t draw the way he used to: for practice, for fun, to get thoughts out of his head.  He rarely had the time, and it didn’t feel like there was any reason to.   
Art, for Steve, had always been a more adult version of the toy soldiers he’s played with as a kid.  It was about imagination, and fun, and letting his mind wander.  
Now, everything was too real.  He was there, in the middle of the war, knowing that at any moment, a Nazi bullet could hit when he least expected it.  Bucky was there, along with all of these other soldiers, real soldiers, who trusted Steve to lead him.  When you spent all day miles behind enemy lines, hiding in the forest and fighting actual tanks, it was hard to let your mind wander.  Everything was too urgent.   
Occasionally, Bucky would see Steve sketching a map and smile.  Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

After Bucky died, Steve left his last notebook in a bombed-out bar in London.   
He wanted to tell himself he got drunk and forgot it, but that wasn’t possible any more.

—

“New notebook?”  Natasha watched as Steve wrote.  
“I picked it up from the gift shop.  The S.H.I.E.L.D. psychotherapist recommended it.”  It had been grating to be sent to a psychotherapist, but she’d turned out to be surprisingly helpful.  “There’s a lot to keep track of in the twenty-first century. I don’t know how people manage to remember it all.”  
“They mostly use their phones.”  
Steve frowned.  “Phones?  You mean telephones?”  He knew they had those little pocket ones, but he wasn’t sure what exactly they could do.  The other day, he’d seen people taking photos on them.  
“Yeah, it’s…I’ll show you one of these days.  I think you’ll like it once you get the hang of it.”  
“I’ll look into it.”  Steve wrote, Phones, learn everything they can do.  
“Everything?” Natasha said.  “That could take a while.”  
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to read over someone’s shoulder?”  
“Not in this line of work.”  Natasha straightened up.  “I was curious to see if you were drawing.  I saw some of your old notebooks in the Smithsonian.  You used to draw, didn’t you?”  
“Ancient history,” said Steve.  “How did you know that?”  
“Smithsonian.  They had an exhibit.”  
Steve frowned.  “They have my old notebooks?”  
“Yes.  Some art experts commented on them.  They said you had talent.  A bit Norman Rockwell.”  
“I like Norman Rockwell.”  
“I guessed.  So, you don’t draw any more?”  
“Not for a long time.”   
Natasha looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then pulled out her phone.  “Fury wanted to run the new uniform redesign by you.  I have some pictures.  You can store those on phone now.”  
“Yes, I did learn that much.”

—

Steve stopped in front of the display in the bookstore.  He’d been meaning to pick up a regular notebook, something cheap and simple to get information on a page.  But they had a display of journals and sketchbooks, and one caught his eye.  
It wasn’t fancy.  It was hardbound, with a plain black cover.   
Steve opened it up and felt the paper.  It was surprisingly good quality.  He hadn’t looked at art paper in a long time, and for a while it had been rationed.  He couldn't remember when he'd seen paper this good.  
“Hey.”  Sam looked over.  “See something you like?”  
“Maybe.”   Steve looked over the notebook.   
“I thought you wanted something you could fit in your pocket.”  
“I think I might get two.”  
Sam grinned.  “Two notebooks.  Go for it, man.  Go wild.”  
Steve glanced down.  “It looks…useful.”  
“Well, if you want anything else useful, they have some fancy drawing pencils near the cashier.”  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”  
Steve ended up getting the pencils, as well as a small set of charcoals.   
It had been a long time, but they still felt natural in his hands


End file.
